


Cold Comfort Christmas

by NixDucky



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Wincest - Freeform, Winter Wincest Fic Contest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 15:57:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NixDucky/pseuds/NixDucky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year apart and a hundred feelings of betrayal between them. Can Dean find his way back to Sam this Christmas? Set immediately after episode 8.09 - Citizen Fang.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Comfort Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Erik Kripke. I just bent the boys to my will a little.
> 
> AN: This is set immediately after episode 8.09 – Citzen Fang. Which I haven’t actually seen yet, so forgive any inconsistencies. Also I have never been to the USA, so ditto the inconsistencies.
> 
> Thanks to JustineDelarge for putting an idea in my mind, and for providing endless goofy smiles with her stories.
> 
> Special thanks to BookwormBaby2580 for fixing my grammar, making me think in descriptions, always encouraging me and for calling me a rock star. I love her hard.
> 
> P.S. Many, many thanks to ATONAU for giving me great advice about my banner and looking at 57 drafts of it.

 

It took Dean the better part of 8 days to finally track Sam down.  He had taken the I-49 out of Louisiana as soon as he finished up with Benny.  Benny would be staying with Elizabeth for a while, at least until after Christmas.  He wanted to spend this time with family, even if that family was unaware of their connection.  Dean could understand that.  

Dean decided that once he crossed over into Texas, he’d start taking the smaller back roads, trying to figure out where he was going.  But until he was in Texas, he’d use the bigger I-49 to get him there as quickly as possible.    He would drive the 10 or so hours straight to Kermit and would pick up Sam’s trail from there.  Dean didn’t stop driving until he was through Kermit and felt like he had made at least a dent in the distance between them.  He pulled over and parked the Impala well off the road so he could get a couple of hours of shut eye before he started looking for Sam.

It seemed Dean’s mind had other plans though, wandering in and out of thoughts and memories of Sam.  When Sam had hung up on him, after Dean had admitted to sending Sam a false SOS text from Amelia, Dean knew he had broken away another small chip in their already crumbling relationship.  But it had started long before then.  Possibly even on the first day he had seen Sam again after a year of being without him, of not knowing if he was even alive.  Sam’s admission that he had not looked for him at all during the year that Dean had been fighting a small war in Purgatory, had felt like a punch to the gut.  At first he was not even sure that he believed Sam.  Of course Sam looked for him, right? Of course he did.  That’s what they did.  They wished the other would go on without them, always knowing that, in reality, they would die before give up on each other.  It was that deep, abiding love – he had thrown that phrase at Sam that first day, hiding his true feelings behind the feigned sarcasm – that formed the foundation for their twisted, co-dependent, would-rather-die-than-live-without-you relationship.

Dean thought back to the conversation he had had with Sam before he left to chase after Benny with Martin.  He hadn’t meant to say what he did and he would never forget the look on Sam’s face.

“Every relationship I have ever had has gone to crap at some point.  But the one thing I can say about Benny? – he has _never_ let me down.” 

He’d meant to vouch for Benny, make Sam see how much he trusted the man.  Not doubt Dean’s faith in him.  In Sam! Sure, Dean was hurt that Sam hadn’t looked for him and sure, maybe his faith had been shaken, but deep down Dean knew.  It was Sam.   _Sam_.  Sam always had his back.  From the first day he was old enough to stand up for Dean, that was all he had ever done.  Stood up for Dean, supported Dean, looked out for Dean.  It wasn’t Sam’s job – not like it was Dean’s job to look after Sam – but he did it.  Sam always did it.  And Dean always counted on that, always knew it.  

“Huh.” _Sams’s face.  Like Dean had just spat on him or something._   “Well, good on you, Dean. Must feel great, finally finding someone you can trust after all these years.”

Sam had sneered.  He had actually sneered.  Dean had wanted to take it back immediately.  For a brief moment he couldn’t look Sam in the eye, had to look down, to the side.  He’d wanted to shout “NO! No Sammy, that’s not what I meant. I trust you Sammy, I trust YOU.”  He’d wanted to fix it.  But at that point he really hadn’t known how, and Martin was standing right there and… In the end Dean bit his lip, nodded his head and accepted that he had once again wounded his little brother.  He had never meant to.  But once again, he’d screwed it up.

Dean must have finally drifted off to sleep, because when he woke up the sun was streaming in through the Impala’s closed windows, and his cheek was stuck painfully to the leather upholstery of the seat with sweat and drool.  After unfolding himself out of the car, straightening all the cricks in his spine and going for a long overdue piss, he was finally ready to get back on the road and find Sam.  Dean tried to get into Sam’s headspace, to figure out where he would go.  He knew that Sam would drive in the direction that would take him as far away from Dean as he could get.  Sam felt betrayed, and Dean knew from experience – _god, too much experience_ – that when he hurt Sam, Sam fled.  Dean figured Sam would be heading north-west, in the complete opposite direction of Louisiana.  This theory was confirmed by the last location he had for Sam.  Dean had switched the GPS on in Sam’s phone when he had programmed his burner phone’s number in as Amelia’s, but Sam had either turned the GPS off or scrapped the phone at least five hours ago.  Dean reckoned the phone was long gone, possibly in pieces, as every time he tried to call he got a monotone voice saying the number did not exist.  The last confirmed location Dean had for Sam was Roswell, New Mexico.  Dean had to chuckle at the irony.

Dean had no sure plan in mind when he left Kermit, headed for Roswell, following Sam’s general direction.  He knew Sam was trying to get far away from him.  He knew Sam was feeling betrayed and vulnerable.  He had checked in at Amelia’s address and had seen her with some other guy, so Dean assumed things had gone badly when Sam showed up after the fake SOS.  Sam was withdrawing and going into hiding.  He would be travelling back roads, more out of habit than anything else, and he would keep moving, always in the direction he thought would get him further away from Dean.  He would only stop at small towns, but he _would_ stop.  Dean knew Sam needed to sleep in a bed, at least every few days, as his stupidly long body was just not made for sleeping in cars.  Dean smiled slightly at that thought.  So basically, all Dean could think to do was to keep going, moving in a more or less northerly direction, keeping to back roads and backwater towns.  He followed his gut and when his gut said stop, Dean stopped.  More often than not his gut was right, and by following their age old, ingrained routines, he found where Sam had stayed the previous night or two before.  But he was always too late.  Sam had already left by the time Dean got there.  Every. Damn. Time.

By the time Dean crossed over the state line into Colorado he was really starting to get worried that the trail was getting cold.  Too cold.  The last few motels he’d asked at hadn’t seen anyone matching Sam’s description in the last few days.  Dean could feel a small coil of panic begin to unwind in his belly.  He had not been without Sam for this long since returning from Purgatory.  Sure he went off to help Benny a few weeks back, but that had just been for a day or so, and he had Benny with him. _And_ Sam was taking his calls then.  Now he was alone, with no way of reaching his little brother, and Dean was reminded forcibly of his first few weeks in Purgatory.  Utterly and unalterably alone, fighting monsters he couldn’t even always see.  He felt like he was back there, fighting an invisible monster, unable to find Sam and knowing that deep down, he was the cause of it all.

It had been just over 24 hours since he had left the small town of Mancos, with no new leads as to where Sam could be, and Dean was running out of ideas.  It was night and all Dean could see was the asphalt passing under him in the beam of the Impala’s headlights.  He knew he was in open country.  The sky was so big, the night was so black, and the road seemed so long.  He was just considering pulling off, before he totaled the Impala when he passed out from exhaustion, when he passed a sign for the next podunk town. Rocky Ford. 

Something tugged at Dean.  If Sam and he weren’t at a rocky crossing point in their relationship then he didn’t even know.  Taking it as a sign, Dean pushed on until he crossed the town limits, the white obelisk stating proudly, “Welcome to Rocky Ford.”  Dean pulled over and opened his phone’s browser looking for motels in the small town.   Ordinarily Dean would have picked up a Yellow Pages, found the first motel listed, gone straight there and asked for ‘Jim Rockford’.  Sam and Dean had perfected their ‘what to do in case of separation’ technique years ago, and this had been their standard operation for so long… But now, with a year apart and a hundred feelings of betrayal between them, Dean knew he couldn’t rely on any of their old rules.  However he still hoped that he knew Sam well enough that he would be able recognize some clue pointing him towards his brother.

The browser listed three motels within Rocky Ford, and Dean started driving toward the one which he thought Sam would be most likely to pick.  It was the smallest and the cheapest and off any main roads.  Although Dean seriously doubted any of the roads in Rocky Ford could be described as ‘main’.  

Swinging the Impala into the parking lot of the Casa Cantaloupe Motel (he couldn’t help rolling his eyes at the name), Dean noticed the green ‘Vacancy’ sign was flashing sporadically and missing the two middle letters, so it read ‘Va   ncy’.  _Great_ , he thought, _very fucking_ va’ncy.   _Another quality establishment_.  He opened the Impala’s door and stepped out, taking a lungful of late night, country air. A feeling of hesitant ease fell over him. _He’s here_ , he thought.   _Sammy’s here_.  Dean walked into the dingy reception office, where he found the counter unmanned.  He rang the bell next to the visitor’s book, and shuddered when he heard a gasp, a ‘ _fuck_ ’ and the clear sound of a zipper _zipping_ coming from the other side of the door situated behind the counter.  A greasy looking man, probably in his fifties, stepped around the door and up to the counter, not-so-surreptitiously wiping his hands on his not-so-clean, shabby jeans.  Another shudder ran through Dean.  The man looked Dean up and down and lifted one greasy eyebrow.

“I’m looking for someone,” Dean said.  “Tall dude, hair all over the place?  He would’ve checked in a day or two ago?”

“Do you have a name for this ‘dude’?” the man drawled back at Dean, lazily sucking on his teeth as a type of punctuation for his question.

“Um…” Dean hesitated.  Sam would never use his real name, but the list of possible aliases was endless.  “Here’s the thing,” Dean tried.  “It’s my cousin.  His wife is looking for him.  Guy got drunk a few nights ago, and left her after they had some big fucking fall out.” Greaser, as Dean was already calling him in his mind, quirked another greasy eyebrow.  “Now, we’re just worried about… Bobby-John,” Dean continued. “He sometimes gets it into his head to take off and play hide ‘n seek like some giant goddamned kid.  He never uses his real name, always… um… Smith or Jones...  Or some rock star alias…?  Anything like that on the books?” 

Greaser sighed and shrugged his shoulders, reached beneath the counter and dropped the check-in book down in front of Dean.  “See for yourself, man.” 

Dean was careful to avoid touching the book where Greaser’s hands had been, but at the last page, he saw it.  Immediately.  “There, that’s him,” Dean practically huffed in relief.  Greaser took the book from Dean – once again Dean avoided touching his hands – and looked to where Dean was pointing.

 “Bruce Hornsby? Who the fuck is that, man? No rock star I’ve ever heard of.”

_No_ , Dean thought.  You _wouldn’t have_.  He just shrugged and asked Greaser if Bruce Hornsby had checked out and if not, what his room number was.  Greaser looked Dean up and down once more, making Dean feel the intense need for a shower, shrugged again, and told him, “One one eight, man.  Hasn’t left his room since he checked in two days ago.  Won’t even let fucking housekeeping in.  Too late now, though.  It’s the twenty fourth.  Ain’t no more housekeeping till after Christmas, man.” 

Dean had started to head out, but stopped at these words.  “It’s the twenty fourth?” he asked.  “Christmas Eve?”

 “Um, yeah.  You strung out man?” Greaser smirked.  Dean just shook his head and continued out the door. 

“You tell Bobby-John or Bruce or whatever the fuck his name is that he better not have fucked up that room! No housekeeping till after Christmas!”  Greaser yelled after him.  Dean shuddered one last time, ducking back into the Impala so he could park it, and go find room 118.

Dean quickly found the room on the left and pulled up, parking right in front of it.  Turning the headlights off, he sat in the car for a while, wondering what his next move should be.  _“Well, good on you, Dean. Must feel great finally finding someone you can trust after all these years.”_    As if it were on a loop in his fucking mind.  Dean shook his head once more, trying to clear the memory from his brain.

Eventually it just got too fucking cold to stay in the car, so Dean got out, and made his way to the muddy brown door with 1-1-8 in cheap plastic numbering on it.  He knocked on the door, something he could hardly ever remember doing at any room he knew Sam was in.   He was looking at his shoes, wondering how he was ever going to dig himself out of the crap shoot he seemed stuck in when it came to Sam, when the door opened.  Dean looked up, feeling exposed and vulnerable and hoping that Sam wouldn’t see how raw he was.  Sam paused for a beat, took a deep breath in before slamming Dean with Bitch-face number 17, (Dean was in so much trouble) and shoving the door closed in Dean’s face without even saying one word.

_Fuck._

Dean didn’t bother knocking again.  Sam knew he was there.  Instead he turned around, leaned back against that crappy door with the crappy 1-1-8 nailed to it, and slowly slid down.  As soon as his ass hit the hard ground, his head fell down to his knees, his hands running over his short hair in frustration.  _Fuck_.

“Sam,” Dean practically whispered.  “C’mon dude.  We need to talk. “

Nothing.

“We can’t go on like this, Sam.  _I_ can’t go on like this.”

Nothing.

“Please dude.  We can fix this.  We always fix it.”

Nothing.

” _Sammy. Please_.”  A so-soft, sighed out prayer.

The click of a latch, and Dean fell into the room as the door gave way behind him.  He just caught an upside down glimpse of long legs walking away from him, large hands combing through messy hair, and broad shoulders tensing, as Sam finally collapsed on the bed furthest away from the door.  And furthest away from Dean.

Dean lay there, on the avocado green carpet.  He just lay there and looked at Sam, with no idea how he should even start.  Eventually, Sam looked over at him, and Dean was sure he saw an eye-roll.  It wasn’t much, but it was familiar and familiar was as good a starting point as any.

Scrubbing his hands over his tired face, Dean finally crawled to his feet, feeling as if he was carrying a goddamned dead weight on his shoulders.  He stood in the room and looked around, briefly taking in the mustard colored wall-paper and spare, grubby furnishings, before turning towards Sam.  Sam looked tired.  Sam looked fucking exhausted.  And that dead weight Dean felt he was carrying?  Sam looked like he had one of his own.

“Um…” Dean began.  “You got any booze around here, or does that not fall under your new ‘organic’ diet?” Dean made a bad attempt at joking.  Sam just leveled him with Bitch-face number 3.  _Right_ , Dean thought. _Jokes aren’t gonna cut it this time_.

”Dean,” Sam sighed out, finally.  “What are you doing here?”

Dean just stared at his brother.  “Looking for you, obviously.  You hung up on me and, dude.  I couldn’t get hold of you.  I had no idea where you were or how you were.  I was worried, Sam.”

For one long moment, Sam just sat there.  Eyes closed.  Looking for all the world as if he was trying to meditate.  Slowly his eyes opened, and turned to focus on Dean.   Dean had to take a step back, when faced with what he saw in Sam’s eyes.

“You have Benny.  You made it pretty fucking clear that Benny is your wingman now.  And after what you did with Amelia…  Dean, I _can’t_...”  Sam faltered.  He ran his large hands over his face, as if he was trying to wipe his emotions off of his face, out of his heart.

Dean looked over at his baby brother, horrified by what he saw.  Even when Sam was battling his hallucinations of Lucifer, even when Sam was practically dying from sleep deprivation, Dean had never seen him look so defeated.

“Sam,” he started.

“Just don’t, Dean.  Don’t.”  Sam’s voice was resigned, devoid of all emotion except for the tiny tremor Dean could just make out.  “Things just aren’t the same.  They may never be the same, no matter how hard we try.  We can’t force ourselves to fit into the same holes we once occupied.  Not after this past year and everything we’ve been through.  Not after so much time away from each other.  Our shapes have changed and maybe…”  Sam hesitated again.  “… maybe we just don’t fit anymore.” 

There.  Dean recognized the break in Sam’s voice right there.  And he knew that it wasn’t all over.  Not yet.

Dean knew they had a mountain of issues to wade through.  He knew that Sam had not told him even close to everything about his year with Amelia and that damned dog, while Dean was struggling to survive in a motherfucking nightmare of a warzone.  But then, Dean had not told Sam everything either.  And if he owned the truth, how could he rail on Sam for doing something Dean himself was doing? How could he blame Sam for keeping secrets when Dean was not ready to share all of his own truths?  Dean knew that he couldn’t.  And this time?  This time, Dean had to be the one to give.  He had to be the one to show his weaknesses.  He had to be the one to show Sam that in spite of everything, he was still betting on them.  Sam and Dean Winchester were a force to be reckoned with.  Together they could overcome any goddamned thing.  Even each other’s insecurities.  They completed each other.  They _were_ soul mates.  And if Dean didn’t believe it before, even with all the times he had thought Sam was dead, or so far gone he could never dig him out, this past year, the violence of it, the uncertainty, never knowing if Sam was alive, if Cas was alive, hell not being sure if he was really alive himself … These things had cemented his belief that Sam truly was his other half.  He just didn’t work right if he wasn’t with Sam.  And yes, he had clung to Benny.  Benny had been the one sure thing he had.  Dean was not going to drop Benny now.  But Dean simply needed Sam.  Like air.  He couldn’t take one full breath unless Sam was with him.

So Dean gave. 

Slowly, so slowly, afraid Sam would flee, Dean walked over to him, and stood in front of his little brother.  Slowly, so slowly, Dean descended to his knees in front of his little brother.  Slowly, ever so slowly, Dean reached out and took those giant hands in his own, linking his fingers through the fingers of Sam’s left hand and placing Sam’s right hand directly over his own heart.  Slowly, so slowly Dean lifted his eyes to Sam’s, watching as Sam slowly blinked, looking first at their entwined hands over Dean’s heart, and then shifting his gaze to look at Dean.  At his eyes.  Right into Dean’s eyes and through his damned soul.

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean gasped.  “We fit.  We _always_ fit.  We _will_ always fit.” 

Sam looked down and shook his head slightly.

“No, Sam.  Listen,” Dean practically begged.  “Listen to me.  I know these last few months haven’t been easy.  I know…” Dean cleared his throat.  “I know I haven’t made it easy on you Sam.  I know I haven’t always been honest with you, and you know I haven’t told you everything.”

Sam bit his lip and looked away.

“But,” Dean pushed on, “I know you haven’t been totally honest with me either.  Dude, I _know_ you and I know you’re hiding something.  But Sam, this is what we do.  We fix each other up, and make each other whole again.  Nothing, nobody can change that.  Not Cas, not Benny, not the fucking Apocalypse, _not_ motherfucking archangels with their own agendas and definitely _not_ giant Dicks who send one of us so far away from the other when we gank him that we can’t even begin to see our way back .”

Dean watched as Sam swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort.  But Sam was looking at him.  Hadn’t taken his eyes of Dean’s for the last few moments, so Dean finally moved his body forward, freeing his hands from Sam’s and moving them to cradle either side of Sam’s head, angling his face towards Dean’s so Sam would be able to see the truth of what he was saying.

“We fit.  It doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy, but baby boy,” – Sam’s breath hitched – “it’s worth it.  We’re worth it.  And Sam, I can’t do this anymore.  I can’t go on with you by my side every damn day, pretending everything is fine when it’s not.  Help me fix us.  Help me, please. Sammy, _please_.”

With that final entreaty, Dean pulled Sam’s face down, and finally, fucking _finally,_ their lips touched, and Dean felt like he’d come home.  Sam gave a breathy moan, but it was almost as if he were hesitating, getting ready to pull away, so Dean pulled his only ace.

“Sam,” Dean breathed across Sam’s lips. “Need you baby boy.  Need you so bad.  Need to feel you inside me, Sammy.”  And Dean did.  Dean desperately _needed_ to give himself to Sam.  Needed to give Sam all his vulnerability.  To show Sam that right then, Sam was the one with all the power.  Sam was the one with the power to break Dean.  And the one with the power to mend him.

Sam shuddered, taking in a deep breath and pulled away from Dean’s mouth to look at him.  Dean’s eyes slowly opened and showed Sam everything he needed to know.  Sam knew that this wasn’t going to be an easy fix, but he finally saw that Dean knew they were forever.  No getting away from it.  Sam hadn’t always been convinced that Dean understood that the way he did.  He had sometimes worried that Dean would realize he wasn’t worth the effort and leave him.  And Sam would have let him.  In fact, that was what Sam had been doing when he left Kermit, travelling in the opposite direction to Dean, all the time feeling their connection stretching and stretching, like a rubber band ready to snap.  Sam figured once the band did snap, that Dean would be free of him and Sam would be able sink into some black hole in his mind and never come up again.  What would be the point without Dean?

But now, Dean was here.  On his knees in front of Sam, telling Sam that he _knew_ they were worth it.  That he knew, regardless of what society thought, they were made for each other.  That they were two halves of the same soul.  And now Dean was asking Sam to… _oh God_ …  Dean had always been the dominant one, from the moment this insane thing between them had started, all those years ago.  For Dean to give up his power like that, to put Sam in control.  Dean knew him so well.  Dean had seen that Sam was floundering, unsure of his place or his role, feeling weak and useless and now, Dean was giving him all the power.  Sam could not have loved Dean more.  The man was his touchstone, and one way or another, Sam saw now that Dean would always guide Sam home.  To _him_.

With one last intense look, Sam finally smiled, and then crashed his lips to Dean’s.  The impact made Dean gasp for air, his mouth opening for Sam, letting his baby brother get his first taste in too many months.  Both men groaned, the familiarity and rightness of finally tasting each other again, sending quivers through each of them.  Sam put his hands on Dean’s upper arms and slowly brought his brother up, rising with him until they were both standing between the room’s twin beds.

“Dean,” Sam pulled away, to look at Dean once more.  “Dean,” he said again, and really, that was all he needed to say.  Dean melted into his arms, while Sam ran his enormous hands over every inch of Dean that he could.  His hands covered Dean’s head, moved through his cropped hair, circled his ears.  His hands travelled to the back of Dean’s neck, squeezing there for a moment, before moving down and along Dean’s shoulders.  Down Dean’s arms, which were linked around Sam’s waist, and around to cup Dean’s ass, squeezing again.  That earned him another groan from Dean, which Sam just swallowed with a grin.  His hands travelled back up, slipping under Dean’s t-shirt, and lifting it as they travelled up his torso.  Sam knew this body.  Knew it so well, and yet it all felt new at the same time.

“Off, off, off,” Sam demanded, pulling and tugging at the fabric, frustrated at it for interrupting his time with Dean’s mouth.  Dean gave a throaty chuckle, and began tugging at Sam’s flannel shirt in turn, pulling it off his long arms, and throwing it, along with the white wife beater Sam was wearing under it, to the floor to join his own cotton clothing.  Chest to chest, _finally_ , the brothers fell against each other, kissing and pulling and touching and stroking whatever part of the other their hands touched.  Denim rubbed against denim, causing both to pull away and gulp down heavy breaths at the feel of each other’s cocks, hard and so, so ready.

With hands fumbling in hair, over taut nipples, and around shoulders, shoes were impatiently toed off and carelessly kicked away.  Sam never wore a belt, so his jean buttons were popped open before he even had Dean’s belt unbuckled, and at the feel of Dean’s hand in his pants, Sam thought he might come instantly.

“Wait Dean!” he gasped.  “Fuck, just… I don’t want this to end too soon.  Slow the fuck down.”

Dean reluctantly pulled his hand from Sam’s cock, Christ he had missed the feel of Sam in his hand, and placed it instead on his own jeans, helping Sam get him out of them.

After what seemed like a thousand years, they were both naked, completely unashamed and reveling in the sight of each other.  Sam was the first to look away; moving his eyes from Dean’s toned body, muscles rippling, cock twitching, to look at Dean’s face.  He knew the expression he saw there mirrored his own.  Want and need, and lust and so much love, Sam could barely stand it. 

He stretched out his hand, and said so softly, “C’mere Dee, come lie with me.”

Dean blinked and swallowed down the emotion that was threatening to choke him.  He put his hand in Sam’s giant paw, and allowed himself to be led to one of the beds, where he lay down, feeling completely exposed and so, so safe with Sam hovering over him.

“Jesus Christ, Dean.  So beautiful.  So goddamned beautiful.” 

Dean couldn’t look away as his baby brother, his Sammy, settled himself between his legs, leaned over him, and taking his head in his hands once again began to kiss Dean so gently.  So gently.  As if, if he could just be gentle enough he could fix everything with his adoration for this man spread out beneath him.  So slowly and so gently, Sam traced Dean’s lips with his tongue, travelling so slowly and so gently down his neck, lingering at the hollow behind his ear.  So slowly and so gently, Sam continued his way down, softly sucking on Dean’s Adam’s apple, earning him a low moan from Dean.

Travelling further down, Sam started lapping at Dean’s nipples, so gently, as if he was afraid Dean could break.  Or disappear.  Dean was so busy writhing from the exquisite feeling of Sam’s mouth on him, he hadn’t noticed that those large hands were tracing a trail of their own.  The moment they made contact with Dean’s cock, his hips bucked and Dean thought he might lose his ever loving mind if Sam didn’t fuck him soon.  Felt that he wouldn’t be able to take another breath without Sam inside of him.

“Sam. Please.  I need you baby boy.  Waited for so long.  No more.  No _more_.”  This last was almost a sob.

Sam leaned over to rummage in his duffle and brought out the lube.  He leaned over again, to retrieve a condom, but Dean stopped him.  “No Sammy,” he whispered.  “Just us.  Just us.  Just us.” Dean repeated like a mantra.

Sam swallowed and nodded.  He returned his mouth to lap and lick at Dean’s chest, while his slicked up fingers made their way down, down, over Dean’s cock, pausing at his balls, and rolling them in the silky slickness, and then finally further down and to the back, slipping through Dean’s cheeks, to find his sweet, clenching hole.

Sam dipped one finger in, wanting to prepare Dean gently and yet still impatient as he heard Dean whimper at the feel of his finger sliding inside of him.

“So good Sammy.  Fuck,”  Dean breathed.  “More, Jesus Sam, more, _please._ ”

Not wanting to rush, but barely able to keep it together, Sam gently pushed a second finger inside of Dean, slowly scissoring and twisting his fingers, seeking out that one spot that would make Dean go crazy.  The quivering and whimpering beneath him let Sam know he’d found it.

“Now Sam, I’m ready.  Need you inside, _now._ ”  Dean demanded.

“Not yet, babe.  One more.”  Sam huffed out a small laugh when he saw Dean actually pout at his words.  “Don’t wanna hurt you, Dee,” Sam explained as he eased three fingers into his big brother.  “Love you so much…”

Dean shuddered.  “Sam.  Sam.  Sam.  Please.”

“All right, Dean.  Okay.  Just…  Dean?”  Sam shifted Dean’s face to look at him, Dean’s pupil-blown eyes searching his brother’s.  “Tell me if I hurt you?  Promise?”  Sam looked so vulnerable as he asked that of Dean, Dean thought his heart might explode.  Taking Sam’s hand in his and placing it over his heart once again, Dean nodded, “I promise baby boy.  Now, fuck me Sam.  Chrissakes, _please._ ”

With that, Sam took his own cock in his slicked up hand and lined himself up with Dean’s stretched hole.  Slowly, gently, Sam pushed, watching with wide eyes as his body slipped inside of Dean’s.  And Dean watched Sam watching them join, mesmerized by the sight of one perfect tear escaping from his Sammy’s eye and rolling down his face.

Once again, Dean pulled Sam’s face towards him, and held his glazed gaze.  “See Sammy?”  Dean asked, as Sam slid all the way into him.  “We _fit_.  We will _always_ _fit_.  Made for each other baby boy.  I’m yours.  You’re mine.  _That_ is the only truth we really need.”

Sam collapsed on top of Dean, hiding his face in the crook of Dean’s neck.  “Dee.  Dee.  Love you so fucking much.  Always been yours Dee.  _Always_.  Our truth.  _Our_ truth.”

With soft writhing and thrusting and so gentle love-making, Dean felt it when Sam’s body went rigid and his thrusts quickened.  Leaning up on one hand, resting his entire weight on one arm, Sam wrapped a huge hand around Dean’s cock and stroked him until they came together, in almost perfect synchronicity, while they just looked at each other, soft words passing between them. 

Sam finally collapsed on top of Dean, but when he made to pull out and move off of his brother, knowing how Dean didn’t like to be smothered, Dean held Sam so tightly to him.  “Don’t.  Don’t leave.  Not yet.  Just, lie with me like this, Sammy.  _My Sammy_.”

Sam sighed, and relaxed back into Dean.  All of Dean.  Sure, they still had a long way to go.  But this Christmas Eve, they had given each other, not only the only thing they ever wanted, but the only thing either of them ever needed.

Each other.


End file.
